South Beach Sizzle
by Benders Fan 1221
Summary: This story HHr and is AU magic isn't real and they live in the U.S. Hermione and Ron travel from NYC to South Beach, Florida where things start to get boring they start their own band. complete sumary inside. Please read and review. Chapter 6 up.
1. Chapter 1

South Beach Sizzle

Summary: AU. Road trip! Hermione Granger has her last summer before college all mapped out. She's checking out of NYC and checking into the sizzling hot "SoBe" scene with her best friend, Ron.

When their day jobs get to be a drag, they spice things up by entering a local band contest. And spicy it is. Turns out that the hottie Hermione keeps running into is also her bands toughest competition! Harry might seem like the perfect guy, but as things heat up Hermione starts to wonder if she can trusty her biggest rival with her heart?

This story is H/Hr and it is my first ever fan fiction.

Disclaimer: I don't own the plot or the characters they belong to J.K. Rowling (who I'm currently angry with because of HBP) and Suzanne Weyn and Diana Gonzalez. If I were JK Rowling HBP would have turned out differently. Now to start the story.

"Ew! This is disgusting!" Hermione Granger shouted over the deafening sound of the wind. She pulled off her black, rectangular framed glasses and wiped away the squashed bugs with the end of her white shirt. She'd been pelted with little insect pests ever since they'd driven out on to the open expanse of the 17.6-mile Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel. "Put the top up! Please!" she requested.

The driver of the classic, silver BMW convertible- a slim, handsome guy with lively blue eyes and short, bright red that was tipped in blue- smiled, but shook his head. "I don't know how."

"Then raise the windows, at least," she suggested. "You have to do it. My window button doesn't work. I think that you have the child lock on or something."

"Okay." He pounded on the electronic buttons at his side.

_Bzzt. _The window to her right went up.

And then down again.

_Bzzt._ The window on her left went up…

…then down again…then up.

"Ron what are you doing?" she asked.

"I can't dive and adjust the windows at the same time," he explained, speaking loudly over the sea breezes blasting them from the Atlantic Ocean. "I can't multitask. I'm an evolutionary throw back to a simpler time."

Hermione laughed and shook her head. "Maybe you're just a lunatic," she teased.

Ron lurched into the next lane, causing Hermione to grab the side of her seat. She decided to say no more and let him pay attention to driving. Since they'd left New York City at dawn that morning, Hermione had come to startling- and somewhat horrible- realization.

Ron was a horrendous driver.

Totally berserk! He was the Ozzie Osborne of automobiles.

She'd thought- just assumed- that she knew everything about Ron. But she hadn't known this.

Watching him grin with pleasure as he clutched the steering wheel made her smile. This was so typical of him. Naturally he would take a job driving a sporty classic car to Florida even though he clearly had absolutely no idea what eh was doing.

He'd found the help-wanted ad in _The Village Voice._ A man in New York had sold a BMW convertible on eBay to a woman in Florida. He needed a driver to deliver the car to her. He'd pay for gas and for Ron's meals and would also pay him three hundred dollars for his so called driving.

Ron always got them mixed up in things like this. She remembered, for example, the time that he'd volunteered them to run the frog-hop races at their community center's Kid's Day and they'd spent hours running after fugitive frogs.

But that was okay with her, really.

Ron's offbeat, but always upbeat, optimism was one of the best things about him. He believed- no matter how disastrous things appeared at the moment- that things would always work out fine in the end. And, when they were together Hermione felt the same way.

So what if he was such a complete freak of a menace on the road? She figured that you had to take the good with the bad when it came to people.

The good with the bad…

Hermione slipped a pen and a small silver notebook from the large canvas bag she'd stowed under the front seat. _The good with the bad_, she wrote. She liked the way the phrase it sounded and wanted to remember it for her next poem. It might even make a good title.

Looking up, she saw a red sports car dart dangerously close in front of them. Way too close! "Look out!" she cried.

Ron swerved into the other lane. A terrible, crunching sound came out of the engine.

"What _was _that?" Hermione shouted, alarmed.

"Not to worry," Ron assured her. "I just threw it into the wrong gear." He shrugged and smiled sheepishly at her.

"Oh, is that all?" Hermione said leaning back into her seat. "Ron have you ever driven this kind of car before?"

"Do you mean a standard clutch?"

"Yeah."

"Once."

"Once?" she said warily.

"But it was for a whole hour," he added, as if it were equivalent to a PhD in driving a manual-shift car. "I may be a little inexperienced, but at least I know how to drive."

"Really?" she said, but he didn't seem to notice the sarcasm. Actually, she knew what he was getting at. Mass transportation had been so easily available in the city that there was no real reason to learn to drive. That's why she had never gotten her driver license.

Reaching over her head, Hermione gathered as much of her blowing hair as she could grab. With quick twists of her wrists, she bundle that thick unruly strands into the black elastic that she'd worn around her wrist. Stray pieces instantly escaped and danced around her forehead.

Ron turned on the radio, and buzzing static blasted at them. They'd lost the signal of the rock station that they'd been listening to in New York. Ron fiddled with buttons until he found a station that came in clear, nearly crashing the car in the process.

Hermione once again clutched the side of her seat and stared, wide-eyed, at Ron. Just then the station he had tuned in crackled to like and blasted "The Remedy," by Jason Mraz.

Ron cranked the song to full volume.

Hermione's mood lifted with the music. It was the start of summer. They'd somehow managed to graduate- high school was behind them, finally! And they were together on this road trip to Florida. What could be better?

She put her glasses back on and knelt up on the seat, her arms stretched wide, and started singing along. Ron sang, too, belting out the lyrics as he drove. "I wont worry my life away!"

That night Hermione and Ron sat on the roof of the car and finished ice-cream cones. They'd stopped at a rest area off interstate 95, at the edge of a city called Florence, in South Carolina.

Ron suddenly grabbed her arm. "Okay, coming out of the door right now," he said, dropping his voice. "Yours or mine?"

Trying not be obvious, Hermione skirted her eyes over toward the front door of the restaurant. A real hottie had just come out. Broad shoulders and cut abs were easy to see beneath his tight T-shirt. Form-fitting jeans promised a great walking-away view. "Mine," Hermione said.

"Dream on," Ron disagreed. "Look at those abs. That guy spends a _lot _of time at the gym.

"Check the hair, though," Hermione countered. "No gay man would wear a mullet anymore."

Ron shook his head. "I don't know…. I've seen some mullet-headed gay guys."

"Not in this life time," Hermione argued.

A Dodge Ram pickup drove into the parking lot. Its driver was a cowboy type in a Stetson hat. He stopped, and the object of their attention climbed in. Ron pounded Hermione's shoulder excitedly. "Busted! I so win!"

"You do not!" Hermione disagreed. "That could have been his brother or his friend."

"Or his _boy_friend," Ron added.

"Maybe," she allowed her interest in the subject began to fade "Who wants a guy who wears a mullet, anyway?"

"Well this is the South," he allowed.

The South might as well have been a foreign country to her. New York, New York, was the only place she'd ever lived. "It's so far away from Manhattan, isn't it?" she said, already felling a little homesick. "Where would we be right now if we were home?"

"Probably drinking too many caffe lattes at Rick's New Rican," he suggested. Rick's New Rican Coffeehouse was their favorite hangout.

Open-mike nights, Rick let Hermione perform the poetry she wrote, even though she was younger than the other poets. "Your stuff is good," he'd told her. "When your good age is just a number."

On her last night in the city, Rick had given her a pep talk. "Are you nervous a bout going to school in Miami?" he had asked her.

"A little," Hermione had admitted to him. "At first the University of Miami seemed too far away from home. But then I got the creative writing scholarship and it became so affordable, I couldn't really turn it down."

"They gave you a stash of cash, huh?"

"I don't know if I could go to college if they hadn't," she replied.

"Well, good luck, kiddo," Rick had said to her. "You might meet kids at this university who have fancier cars or nicer clothes, but remember: You have talent. You're a damn good poet. You have something in here"- he thumped his chest lightly- "that no one can ever take away from you. You have passion for life, and it show in you writing."

"Thanks, " she'd told him, wrapping him in a quick hug. In a few words, Rick had helped her deal with an anxiety that she hadn't even admitted herself until that moment: How would she fit in at the University of Miami?

There on the Lower East Side of Manhattan she was in a crowd of other kids who were mostly like herself. They came from different ethnicities, but very few of them had a lot of money. If they did, they'd go to a private school. So, although she lived in a small apartment with her mother, living off of the unreliable and usually insufficient money her mother made as an aspiring actress, Hermione didn't think about her lack of money on most days. All the families around her struggled and that's just how things were.

Now, though, she was going into a whole different world, where she wouldn't be with other people who were so much like herself. Would they look down on her because she might not have all the things they did? She tried not to care. After all, it was a trivial superficial thing. But sometimes she felt herself freeze up inside, overcome with anxiety.

Ron's voice broke through Hermione's thoughts, bringing her back. "Did your mom freak this morning when you left?"

Hermione shook her head and scooped a drip of chocolate off the end of her cone with her tongue. "No, I think she was relived that I'm not going to Canada with her." Hermione's mom had just landed a big commercial acting job that was being shot in Canada. It was an important job for her since she hadn't worked in two months. "She knows I'd be bored up there, and she'll be busy shooting the commercial."

"She's making that foot spray commercial right?" Ron said.

"Funk-Off foot spray," Hermione confirmed.

Ron snorted with laughter. "I love the name of that stuff."

Hermione laughed too. "I know. She actually has to say, 'Spray foot fungus away with Funk-Off!'" That reminded Hermione that she had brought a can of the stuff along to show Ron. Wiping her chocolate covered hands on the back of her jeans, she reached in to her brown bag and pulled out the can. "Ta-da!"

"That is so sick!" Ron cried. "I have to have this! Every time someone cuts me off on the road, I'm going to shoot a blast of Funk-Off at them!"

Hermione tilted her head back up at the dark night sky and laughed. What a sight that would be.

Ron hopped back in to the car. "Come on. We have to go find a hotel. I can't drive anymore."

Hermione sent up a silent cheer.

They drove a short way and came to a shabby but affordable-looking place called Fred's Hideaway. The heavyset man at the front desk asked them if they wanted one room or two. "One I guess," Ron said looking apprehensively at Hermione to check if that was okay.

"Sure. One room," she agreed with a shrug. Neither had a lot of money. The less they needed to spend, the better.

The man leered at Hermione with a knowing grin. She glared back at him. As he handed Ron the room key, he winked. "Have fun," he said.

Ron reached down to his over night suitcase and pulled out the can of Funk-Off. He sprayed it around the room.

"Hey! What that?" the man shouted.

"It's Funk-Off!" Ron replied with a goofy, bright smile. "I thought that you could use some."

"Get out of here with that stuff!" he yelled turning three shades of red.

They hurried, snickering quietly, out of the office. "I can't believe that you did that!" Hermione managed to say when they were outside and able to burst in to laughter.

"I had to do _something,_" Ron replied. "I hope the rest of this place isn't as dirty as his mind."

Their room was small and smelt of mildew, but it had two double beds. Hermione threw her self on to the nearest one. "Wow, I'm beat. What time do you want to get up tomorrow?"

Ron had already gone into the bathroom. He'd left the door open, and she could hear little blasts of an aerosol can being squirted. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"If there was ever a place that needed Funk-Off, this is it," he said as he squirted. "I think we've arrived at fungus headquarters."

She reached over to the small digital clock on the nightstand between the two beds. Arching a brow as she flicked off a questionable looking bug, she called out to Ron what time do you want to get up tomorrow?"

"Five?" he suggested.

She groaned.

He stepped out of the bathroom, a toothbrush in his mouth. "I was hoping to get to Miami tomorrow," he explained through a mouthful of toothpaste.

"So soon?" she asked. She didn't want to spend an eternity driving with Ron, the Menace of the Highway- that was for sure. But she hadn't expected to get to Miami the next day. She wasn't really ready for that yet.

A small nervous knot clenched in Hermione's stomach. Even though the University of Miami wouldn't start until the end of summer, she'd convinced her mother to let her stay with her father, who lived in nearby Coconut Grove. That way she could learn her way around the Miami area before she started classes. And, with Ron there, it was more fun than being alone in Alberta, Canada.

Her dad had been pretty much out of her life since her parents divorced when she was five. She'd e-mailed him and asked if she could stay with him. He didn't answer for two days but when he did it was to the point: "Sure the more the merrier! Come on down!"

Maybe this would be a good chance to get to know her father. On the other hand, it might be a complete disaster. She really didn't know what life with him would be like, and it made her nervous.

She'd find out… tomorrow.

Well that was chapter 1 tell me what you thought. Flamers will be laughed at unless it is constructive criticism.


	2. Chapter 2

South Beach Sizzle

For disclaimer see chapter 1. The plot for this story is based entirely off of one of my favorite books South Beach Sizzle by Suzanne Weyn and Diana Gonzalez so that is where the plot comes from.

Now on to chapter 2. This Story _will_ be hhr so if you have a problem with that deal with it.

"I can't get used to all these palm trees," Ron remarked as they stopped at a traffic light. "Do you think they're real or made of plastic?"

"Plastic," Hermione replied. "Definitely. I think that we've driven it to a postcard." This feeling of being in an unreal, naturally bright landscape had begun when they drove in to Georgia and had intensified as they continued on down the Florida's east coast.

Hermione had the Map Quest directions to Ron's uncle Billius' house pressed flat on her knee. Ron was going to live with him while he searched for work in Miami. "Go left at the next light," she instructed him.

The left turn brought them into a neat neighborhood of ranch-style homes. Ron stopped in front of number 94, his uncle's address. "This is it," he said, sounding decidedly nervous. "I don't really know my uncle Billius. He's an army guy, and he just retired this year."

Ron had worked all through high school as a prep cook in the restaurant kitchens, cutting, chopping, assembling, and garnishing food for chefs. He liked the restaurant environment and wanted to learn more about it. He thought it might even be a career he'd like to pursue, but he didn't have the money to enroll in a culinary school.

A grill cook he worked with had told Ron that he might find it easier to find cooks an chefs who would teach him if he started outside Manhattan, where it wasn't as competitive. With that in mind, Ron had come to Miami hoping to be hired as kitchen help in a really top-notch restaurant and learn that way. His dream was to someday become a chef. He wasn't sure if Miami was any less competitive than Manhattan, but it was the only city where he had a relative he could stay with.

"It was nice of your uncle to let you stay here," Hermione said as they sat in the car in front of his uncle's house. "This way you can go find a job with out paying for a motel."

"My mother is his big sister. I don't think that he could say no to her," Ron replied. He turned to Hermione with pleading eyes. "Come in with me?"

"Okay," she agreed. Together they walked up the cement path and knocked on the door. Ron rang the bell, and after a few moments a tall, neatly dressed man in his fifties appeared.

He stared at them with a wary expression. He seemed to have no idea who they were.

"I'm you nephew Ron." Uncle Billius stared at them with a stony face. Ron laughed nervously. "You know- Ron from Terrio. From New York. Your nephew, like I said."

His steely blue eyes were unwavering in his stone face. Hermione was sure that they had the wrong address. "We're sorry," she said, starting to back up. "We were looking for Billus Malloy and…"

"You're at the right address, little lady," he interrupted. "I'm just surprised, is all."

"Surprised?" Ron said. "I thought that Mom told you that I-"

"I would never have expected my sister to allow her son to dye his hair blue."

"She likes it, actually," Ron told him a nervous quaver in his voice.

"And are you telling me she also likes it that you wear women's jewelry?" Uncle Billus went on, peering at the small silver hoop in Ron's ear.

"Ron's mom thinks that guys with earrings are cool," Hermione put in feeling it was her duty as Ron's friend to defend him. "I do too. A lot of guys at our school have earrings. Some guys wear two or more."

Uncle Billus stared at her coldly. "Nor did I expect my nephew to arrive with a girl friend in tow. There will be no sinful cohabitating in this house. You will have to find other accommodations, young lady. This is a decent household."

Ron grabbed hold of Hermione's arm and began backing up. "Not to worry Uncle Billius," he said. "I'll be taking Hermione to her dad's place. I just wanted to stop by and let you know I'd arrived. I'll drop her off and be back later."

"We lock the doors at twenty-one hundred hours. Sharp!" he barked.

Hermione and Ron began counting on their fingers. Ron got their first. "Nine?" he said. "But it's already nearly eight now."

"Twenty-one hundred hours," he repeated, and shut the door.

"What a freak," Ron said as they hurried back down the walk way toward the car.

A black-and-white pug dog came charging around the side of the house, yipping at them with a maniacal intensity. Hermione and Ron froze. "Do you think that he hear what I said about his master?" Ron whispered. He glowered at the dog. "I bet Uncle Billius has trained him to spy."

"I hope that's _all _it's trained to do," Hermione muttered between lips clench into a frozen smile. "Nice doggie," she attempted to soothe the barking dog. "Sweet poochie."

A deep, fierce growl rose up from the animal's thick throat. It barred teeth and began to lunge at them. In bust of speed, they ran for the car. The dog raced after them. Ron dove headlong into the open convertible, Hermione right behind him.

With a horrible grinding of gears, Ron managed to start the car and sped away from the house. The barking dog chased the car for the entire length of the block before the lost sight of it.

"Well that was enjoyable," Ron, said with a shudder as they turned out of the neighborhood and onto the main road.

Hermione took out another set of Map Quest directions that would direct them to her dad's address. In just minutes they were entering a community of condominium apartments. Several two-story buildings were clustered around a large man-mad pond and connected by cement paths. "He's in building C," Hermione said when they'd climbed out of the car.

He had live her for the last twelve and a half years, but she'd never seen it before. During those years she'd only seen him at weddings and mostly family funerals. But she knew the building number from the return address of the birthday cards that came on most birthdays.

They found the building and the apartment. It was at the back of the complex and faced a long, rectangular community pool surrounded by a wooden fence.

Music blared from the apartment. Hermione rang the buzzer, and they waited. No one came to the door. She looked into the window on her right. Through the partially open blinds she could see that there was a party going on inside. "Do you see your dad?" Ron asked.

Hermione nodded. It would have been difficult to miss him.

He was standing on the table singing with the karaoke machine. Jon Granger was exactly as she remembered him: handsome, dressed in a half-button Hawaiian shirt, and the life of the party.

Hermione pressed the buzzer again and held it down. After a few minutes, a blonde woman opened the door. She was wearing a midriff top, tight short-shorts, and lots of makeup. She was probably on her mid thirties. "Yes?"

"I'm Jon's daughter," Hermione said, suddenly feeling very shy.

The woman seemed confused. "Jon has a daughter?"

"_Yes!_" Hermione replied, with a note of exasperation in her voice.

About twenty other people were there. A few looked casually toward the door to see who had arrived. Other were too busy talking, dancing, eating, or drinking to notice them.

"Jon!" the woman shouted over the music. Jon Granger didn't hear her. His eyes were closed, and his arms were spread wide as he enunciated every syllable of "Baby Got Back."

"My homeboys tried to warn me, but that butt that you got makes me so--" he raised a fist in the air to punctuate the next word but was cut off by the woman's shout.

"Jon!"

He stopped and looked at her quizzically.

"There's a kid here who say's she's your daughter!"

The music had stopped, and this time the works rang out loud and clear across the room. Everyone turned to stare.

"Mia!" her father cried, using the pet name he called her as a young child. "Your early!"

He jumped down easily from the table and crossed the room to them. She introduced him to Ron and apologized for being early, explaining that they'd made better time than she'd expected.

"Hey, no _problema_," her father said. "It's just that I have friends staying in my extra room, which I planned for you to let you use. But you can have the couch for tonight. Ron, are you staying too?"

"No," Ron answered. He turned to Hermione. "It's nearly nine. I'd better get back to Commander Demento and Terror Pup. I have to deliver the car early tomorrow."

"Okay. If you get shut out, come back here."

Ron said good-bye to her father and headed for the door. Hermione had to fight down the urge to wrap herself around him and cling on for dear life. She thought little of kids who grab their parent by the leg and wont let go while the stiff legged parent drags the unmovable child around the room. Right then she could totally relate to the separation anxiety that little kids felt. Even though she was with her father, it felt as if Ron was her real family member.

Ron noticed the anxiety on her face. He shot her and encouraging smile and a thumbs-up.

She responded with a tight, worried grin, though she retuned the thumbs-up. _Don't leave me here,_ she thought as Ron disappeared out the door.

Rap changed to blasting Latin music, and the partiers formed a conga line. Dancing and stumbling on one another, the dancers wiggled their way toward the door.

"Come on, Hermione," her father said as he grabbed he waist of the last person in line.

"You go without me," she told him with a halfhearted wave.

She stepped out side and watched the dance line wrap around the pool. She heard the sound of a horn honking and looked to the far end of the pool. A red convertible Cadillac was approaching jammed with men and women.

Hermione clapped her hand to her mouth in horror when she realized that the car wasn't stopping! It had dropped the curb and was heading straight for the pool!

The crowd screamed and scattered.

The car knocked down the wooden fence around the pool and drove straight into the pool. The men and women inside laughed as they swam out of the slowly sinking car.

Jon Granger had climbed out onto the pool's diving board. _"!Wepa!" _he cheered, using the Spanish expression she'd heard him shout before. "Now _this _is a party!"

Hermione turned over in her father's couch further ensnarling her legs in the tropical print sheet tangled around them. It was almost 3:30 in the morning, but it was impossible to sleep. About six of her father's friends were still hanging out, laughing and drinking, in the open kitchen area.

He canvas bag, which she'd stashed at the end of the couch, began to ring. She flipped back around, bent forward and pulled the out her cell phone. "Are you okay?" she asked, knowing that it had to be Ron.

"Fine, except I got sent to my room at nine fifteen," he complained.

"That's not so bad. Have you just been reading or watch in TV all this time?" she asked.

"I wish its lights out at nine thirty! Sharp! If I had known, I would have brought a flashlight so I could read under the covers like I did at camp."

"Just go to sleep," she suggested.

"I did, for a few hours. But I woke up at two in the morning, and now I can't fall back to sleep!"

"At least you've slept a little. I'm exhausted. The party wound down after somebody called the cops around two thirty," she recalled. "But then they noticed the car was in the pool and-"

"The _what_ in the _what?"_ Ron interrupted, his voice filled with disbelief.

"I'll tell you about it tomorrow," she promised through a yawn.

"I can't wait," he said.

For a moment or two, they were silent. Then they spoke at once, their voices over lapping. "This is never going to work!"

Well that's chapter 2.

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	3. Chapter 3

South Beach Sizzle

I am super sorry that I haven't updated this story in while but I've been very busy with school.

Disclaimer see chapter 1. In the next chapter or two Hermione sees in to Harry for the first time. Remember that this fic is AU (alternate Universe) so Hermione has never met Harry before. YES this story is based on the book South Beach Sizzle by Suzanne Weyn & Diana Gonzalez.

Here's chapter 3

The cab left Hermione off at the corner of Sixth Street and Ocean Drive in front of a large white stucco building with deep blue awnings over it's many windows. She paid, climbed out, and stood, looking in every direction at the bright, busy world of South Beach.

On the other side of the wide street was a gorgeous sand beach leading to the Atlantic Ocean. It seemed so strange that all she'd have to do was cross the street, pass a sidewalk and a line of low twisting trees, and she be at the beach. In New York City, going to the beach in the summer meant getting on a train or bus, fidgeting restlessly in horrible crowds or traffic jams, and then scrambling for a sliver of red-hot sand to lay your blanket on.

But here- Poof! - cross the street and you were at beach paradise. _How great is that!_ She thought.

Turning, she noticed the cornerstone in the hotel's white stucco. It read: Built in 1923. Stepping back to see the entire block, she realized that a lot of the hotels, cafes, shops, and restaurants looked as if they had been built in the 1920's and 1930's. She'd read about South Beaches historic Art Deco District in a pamphlet on the trip down.

A woman walked past her dressed I a tiny bikini with a long scarf wrapped around her hips. She turned into a shop a little farther down. Hermione had seen many unusual things in New York City- in fact, she saw them on a daily basis- but she couldn't imagine someone just strolling by in a bathing suit- not even a tank suit, never mind the smallest possible bikini!

She suddenly felt way overdressed in her black Capri pants and long-sleeved, oversize white shirt. Although this was what she always wore- she had a winter version that included long pants and a white hooded sweatshirt- it just wasn't right for South Beach.

Two arms wrapped around her from behind, and she jumped. "Save me!" Ron wailed, hugging her tight. "I've fallen into the clutches of crazy people. My young and beautiful life is now a living hell!"

"Tell me about it," she sympathized. "You want to see crazy people? The party at my father's place never ends. Even when he goes to the nightclub where he bartends, his friends stay behind and keep partying. I haven't slept in days! And I've been living on potato chips and guacamole dip breakfast, lunch, and dinner. That's all he has in the house."

"I'd rather be stuck with party animals than a military moron," Ron insisted empathically. "It's like I've been abducted into the army!"

"You mean _inducted,_" she corrected him.

"No! I mean _abducted_- as in kidnapped by an alien life force from Mars."

"Yes, defiantly Mars. Wasn't Mars the Roman god of war or something? Well, that house reminds me of some weird all-military planet. And if you think Uncle Billius was bizarre, wait until you meet Aunt Helen! She just nods and agrees with Uncle Frank like some wife from Stepford."

"Well, I'm really glad to see you, any way," she said. "Isn't it amazing here?"

"Mad awesome," he agreed. "And look at all of these great restaurants. I'm bound to get a job in one of them."

They crossed over to the beach. Taking off their shoes, they walked down to the waters edge. As they stood with their feet in the surf, Ron suddenly grabbed Hermione wrist. "Look out. Pterodactyl attack!" He shielded his head with his arms as four winged creatures swooped toward them, skimming the water in their search for fish.

"They're pelicans!" Hermione said, giving him a playful shove. "Didn't you see _Finding Nemo?"_

Ron stared at the birds as they flew off, and flashed Hermione a grin. "They look different in person. And they don't have Australian accents either!"

"Are you sure? I thought that I heard one of them say, 'G'day mate,' as he flew by," she said.

They walked along the shoreline, stopping to check out a sand sculpture contest along the way. Someone had built a detailed huge castle that won second place. The winner was a mermaid lying on her side. Hermione estimated that the sculpture was nearly 80 feet long.

After and hour they left the beach and walked down Ocean Drive, just looking at all of the shops and restaurants. It was lunchtime, and crowds were filling the outside porches and open-air cafes. A waiter walked past them carrying a platter of clams and shrimp. Ron stopped to inhale the spices, garlic, and butter. "I'm suddenly starving," he said. "Lets find someplace to eat."

"Someplace cheap," Hermione added.

"Not to worry," Ron said. "I delivered the car and got paid." He took out his wallet and pulled out $300. "I'm _filthy _rich."

"That's good, but maybe you should hang onto the money until you get a job," Hermione suggested. "Who knows how long it's going to have to last?"

"You're right, but just let me treat you to lunch," he insisted "You sorta earned it by taking the ride with me. Besides your showing signs of guacamole-and-chip syndrome."

"Oh yeah?" Hermione said with a laugh. "How can you tell?"

"Well I didn't want to make you self-conscious about it," he replied, "but to tell you the truth, you look a little green and you're making a crunching sound as you walk. And there's a distinct odor of avocado in the air when ever you near."

"Ew! Sounds very unattractive," Hermione said. "What should I do?"

"There's only one cure: grilled shrimp and some kind of drink with pineapple in it. I'm fairly sure that we'll find that around here somewhere."

They tuned up a street called Espanola Way and admired the Spanish-style stucco buildings. They came to The Clay Hotel, at the corner of Espanola Way and Washington Street. They sat at an outdoor table shaded by a deep blue umbrella and ordered lunch.

"This is the life," Hermione said as she sipped a pina-colda-flavored smoothie. "Wouldn't it be great if we could just stay here and never go back?"

"Please… don't tempt me," Ron agreed, breathing deeply and looking up at the clear blue sky.

After lunch, they walked around the side streets of South Beach. They poked around in shops that sold clothing, art, books and gifts.

They bought postcards to send to their friends and family at home. They stopped at another café, ordered lattes, and wrote out their cards. "Today's been the first good time I've had since I got here," Hermione said, looking up from her postcard. "I so, _so, so_ don't want to go back to my father's place."

"Tell me about it," Ron agreed.

They finished their cards and continued their stroll around the back streets. As they walked, Hermione felt herself becoming depressed. This summer was going to be a total bust. She'd be stuck with a bunch of middle-aged, party-hearty left overs from the 1970's. She'd have nothing to do until she started school in September. They turned a corner and a sign in front of a small restaurant caused them to stop short:

FURNISHED APARTMENT FOR RENT.

INQUIRE WITHIN.

Hermione and Ron stared at each other.

From the look on his suddenly bright eyes, Hermione knew that he was thinking the same thing. "Is it too crazy?" Hermione asked.

"It couldn't hurt to take a look." He pointed out.

Pulling open a glass door, they stepped into the dimly lit restaurant. They walked past a desk with a cash register and went down 2 steps to a room with about 10 tables. The tables were set with white clothes and napkins that set off vivid blue plate. But the place seemed empty.

"Hello?" Ron called.

"_Hola," _a woman called back in a rich alto –pitched voice. _"!Un momento por favor!" _A swinging kitchen door at the far wall of the room swung open wide, and a heavy-set woman in her sixties walked out. Her brisk stride put a jiggle in her wide curves and caused her full head of dyed red umber hair to bounce.

He nearly black eyes sparkeled, and she smiled warmly at them. "We aren't quite ready to serve supper yet, but I can find you a little something to eat. You like _tapas_? '_Tapas'_ means 'little dishes.' Mexicans serve _tapas _to, but I do them the Cuban way. _!Muy bien!_ You will love them."

"It sounds delicious," Hermione said, "But we really came to ask about the apartment. Could we see it?"

"_Si, _of couse!" She took off the white apron she'd been wearing over a purple pantsuit. "Come with me."

They followed her through the kitchen and up a set of stairs at the very back of it. "This is a three story building. There are two floors of apartments above the restaurant," she explained as they climbed the dark, narrow stairs. The empty apartment is on the second floor."

They came out to a green carpeted hallway. The walls were an ocean blue, like so much else Hermione had seen at South Beach. She liked it. It was certainly better than the beige-brown hallway walls of her NYC apartment building. Ron had named that color Aprtment-Complex Brown.

The woman unlocked a door, and they stepped into a small apartment painted a bright lime green. A tiny kitchen of dazzling white cabinets and appliances shred the same space with the living room. "It's nicely furnished," the woman said, pointing to to a rattan love seat covered in a bright tropical-patterned fabric. A glass-top coffee table sat in front of it. A small round table with wicker chairs shared the room with everything else.

They stepped into the bedroom, which was painted the same lime green. It had a double bed with a wicker head board, a small white dresser, and a side table. "There's only one bedroom?" Ron asked.

The woman raised a questioning eyebrow. "How many do you need?"

"Two would be nice," he answered.

The woman studied them with a puzzled expression, and then she shrugged. "The couch pulls out."

Hermione and Ron looked at each other. It would be cramped. But it was furnished- and it would be theirs.

"What do you think?" Ron asked Hermione.

Hermione it her lip. This was so nuts but … "I really want it," she dared to say.

"Me too," he agreed. "Let's do it.

Ron took out the $278 that was left over from lunch, and Hermione scraped together all of the money she had, including the emergencfy $50 bill that her mother had safety pinned inside of her bad ans the change from the botton of her bad.

It wasn't enough.

"Not to worry said Ron. He asked the woman for the directions to the nearest ATM. Luckily there was one at a pharmacy just several buildings away.

He pulled a Visa Buxx card from his wallet. "My uncle Tony gave this to me when we graduated," he said, keying in hispin number. "I never even looked to see how mush was on this card."

"You never looked?" Hermione asked incredulously.

"I wanted it to be a suprisefor someday when I really needed money," he said punching the buttons.

"Only you would think that it was fun not to know how much money you has recived," she commented.

"Sweet!" he cried as the amount came up. "Ome thousand big ones!"

"What a generous gift!" Hermione commented.

"Uncle Tony is loaded," Ron said. "And yes, it is massivly generous. I should have sent him a nicer thank you card." He took most of the money out of the account, and they rushed back to the apartment, where the woman was sitting on the couch waiting for them.

"Since you gave me cash I can wait a few weeks for the first month's rent," the woman said counting out the dollars. "My name is CeCe Caracas. I own the restaurant downstairs and I'm you new landlady. Glad to have you."

Hermione was so excited, she felt as if she could hardly breathe. "Oh-that's-so-great!" she managed to say.

CeCe smiled. "I am glad that you are glad. I will be right back. I must get an application form."

The moment that she left, Ron and Hermione grabbed eachother, hopping around the room the room, giddy with joy. "My uncle will be relived to be rid of me," Ron said after they stopped.

"I think my father will be happy too," Hermione said. Her words caused a pang of sadness. Her dream of getting to know her father had certainly been a wash out. He wasn't a bad guy, she supposed … he just wasn't someone who should have ever become a father.

She took out her cell phone and called him. A shiver of excitement ran down her spine. "I should at least tell him I've done this," she said.

No one picked up, and the voicemail came on. "You've reached Ruben Cruz. I'll be away for a couple of days, enjoying myself in sunny Puerto Rico. Call me again later. Hermione, honey, got a chence to hop on a cruse ship. See ya in a few days. There's guacamole and chips in the fridge."

Hermione clicked off. "He's not at home, butn I'm fairly positive that he'll be just fine with this."

CeCe Caracas returned with the form and a pe. She sat with them at the table while they filled it out together. After about two minutes, someone knocked on the aprtment door, which had been left ajar.

They turned towards the door, but before any of them could say a word, a very old man burst in. he was completely bald and wore thick glasses, a large striped shirt, and baggy Bermuda shorts. He set down the large boom box he had been carrying and switched on.

"Don't worry," Mrs. Caracas assured them in a whisper loud enough to be heard over the music. "It's just dear Mr. Smedlinsky; he lives in an apartment up stairs."

Hermione and Ron stared, goggle-eyed with astononishment, as the began to dance. The tune was very fast and sounded German or Eastern European. The man despite his age, did a very livelyu dance, which involved hopping, kicking, and slapping his knees, head and even his scrawny butt. His arms flew wildly from his side with complete abandon.

Mrs. Caracas went over to the boom box and hit the 'Off' button.

"No! No!" he protested. He took buissiness cards from and handed one to both Ron and Hermione. "You learn to dance from Mr. Smedilinsky. I teach."

Hermione read the card:

JEZY SMEDILINSK I TEACH YOU DANCE 

**RHUMBA, HIP-HOP, TWIST,**

**CHA-CHA, POLKA, SLAP DANCE**

"Mr. Smedilinsky, no one wants dancing lessons right now. _Grasias pero no,"_ CeCe Caracas said. "Besides, usually you give you slap dancing demonstation down on the beach at this time. You wioll be late."

With a quick glance at his wrist-watch, Mr. Smedilinsk snapped up his boom box and hurried out the door. Mrs. Caracas closed it firmlyu behing him. "Poor man," she said. "He got involved with a young cage dancer from one of the clubs, and one day she hopped on a Greyhound with his life savings. He was retired, but after she left he had to find work. So now he give dance lessond."

"What a sad story," Hermione said.

"Life is unpredictable," CeCe comented with a knowing nod.

Ron finished filoling out the application form for the two of them and handed it to CeCe. She looked it over. "Your last name is Granger," she said to Hermione. "Did you ever here the great Cuban singer Cecilia Granger?"

"No." Helen Granger, the actress, was the only famous Granger that Hermione knew of.

"Too bad," CeCe said. "What a talent! I knew her when I was younger, back in Cuba." She stood with her legs wide. _"!Azucar" _she shouted, makibng her full hairdo wobble.

Ron and Hermione looked at each other, not sure what to make of this call.

"Cecilia Granger was famous for shouting that," CeCe Caracas explained. "Sje had 22 gold albums by the time she died in 2003. _!Azucar!_ It means sugar."

She went back to reading the application. "You forgot to fill in the part that tells me where you work."

Ron and Hermione looked at eachother nervously. What would they say? Would they lose the apartment if they admitted that they didn't have jobs?

"Not working?" Mrs. Caracas asked, picking up on their anxiety.

Hermione grimaced and shook her head. "We just got here and we haven't had the chance to-"

"_!Muy bueno!" _Mrs. Caracas cried, grinning widely. "You're hired!"

hermione and Ron stared at her, not understanding.

"I need a waitress and a cook. You need a job. If you can wait tables or cook, you're hired!" CeCe told Hermione.

"I can only cook a little, and I've never waited tables before," Hermione admitted. "Ron's worked in restauraunts before, though."

Ron wiggled uncomfortably. "I'm only a prep chef. I only know how to cut and chop and stuff."

"You'll learn the rest," said Mrs. Caracas.

"I don't know," Ron said hesitanly. "I need a job, but I … uh … was thinking of something more…"

"You are holding out for a more higher class job," she said understanding his hesitance.

"Yeah. Since I can't afford chef school, I was hoping to learn at a real four-star type place," Ron said.

"I understand," the woman said. "Okay, you have a few days to find a job. But if you dn't find one, I will find you one- right here, with me." She wirrled around to Hermione. "And you can easily wait tables," she said.

"I can?" Hermione questioned. The idea was a little intimidating, but how hard could it be? And it was true that she needed cash, and fast . "Okay," she a greed. "Wow! Just abn hour ago I never expected to be living and waiting tables here in South Beach."

Mrs. Caracas wrappewd them in a radiant smile. "As I always say: Life is unpredictacble. I say it because it's true.

Well that's chappy 3. hope you liked it. Sorryt it took me so long to update.

REVIEW. Follow the arrow.

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	4. Chapter 4

Here chappy 4. Thanks to everyone who reviews the first 3. I am going to try to update at least 1time a week. Sorry it took so long I had a very important paper that took 1st priority over everything else and a ton of schoolwork. I'll try to update more often.

Hermione and Ron took a cab to her father's empty apartment. She packed her bag and left him a not with her new address.

Then they went to Uncle Billus' house- or space station Mars, as Ron called it- and got Ron's things. His uncle argued a little but gave in with a look of relief, as Ron predicted.

Once again, Terror Pup escorted them to the waiting cab. "That's one demented animal," the driver commented as he raced away.

"We have now spent every last dime we have," Ron commented as he and Hermione pooled the last of their money to pay the driver when they were back at the apartment.

"At least I have a job," Hermione said. "And you'll find one soon."

That night Ron pulled out the couch bed. "You're a girl you should have the bedroom," he explained.

"Isn't the sorta old-fashioned?" she asked. "I'm surprised that you'd think like that."

"Hey I'm gay," he said. "I'm not from another planet. So I have some strange ideas left over from childhood- who doesn't? Take the bedroom. The couch bed is really fine."

"We could switch each night," she suggested.

"I don't wasn't all of your girl things in my bed," he protested.

Her hands went to her hips. "What girl things?" she demanded.

"Oh, you know- all of those secret girl things you have," he said.

She realized that he was determined to give her the bedroom, and she loved that he was so sweet. She leaned across the bed and kissed him on his cheeks. "Good night, roommate, and thanks."

"Night, roomie," he called back.

That night she lay in bed, in the hot pink glow of neon light from the hotel across the street, listening to the constant murmur of the night life below and the steady crash of waves. She could hear the ocean clearly even though they were several blocks from it. She stretched and pulled down the shade so that only a line of pink shone on her covers.

Yawning, she shut her eyes and dreamed the red convertible that had been driven into the pool at her father's apartment. Only, in the dream, Ron was the driving the car into the pool and she was with him. And the pool became the ocean. The car went down and down and down. She and Ron panicked, clinging to each other in the water. Then suddenly, they realized that they could breath under water and began to swim around, feeling happier and more free than they did ever before in their lives.

Hermione's alarm rang. With a groan, she snapped open the shade and squinted against the blinding white light pouring in. once she remembered where she was, she got up and wandered into the cramped lime green living room, with it's tropical furniture. There was a note from Ron on the table: **GONE JOB HUNTING. WISH ME LUCK. RW**

Someone rapped on the apartment door. Hermione didn't want to answer it using only her nightshirt. What if it was Mr. Smedelinsky again? She could never say no to salespeople. If she opened the door, she might be stuck boogying al day with an ass-slapping bald geezer.

The person knocked again, louder this time.

She grabbed Ron's zip-front hoody that he'd tossed on the couch and she put it over her nightshirt. Then she went to the door and unlocked it, and latched the safety chain. "Who's there?" she asked.

"It's me Luna from upstairs," replied a female voice with a strong British accent.

Hermione opened the door a crack and looked out. A stunningly beautiful, very dark-skinned woman of about 19 or 20 stood in front of her. She was easily 6-feet tall, and slender, in cut offs and a halter-top. Her black hair was cut loose to her head and showed off the row of silver hoops that shimmered in her ears. "Greetings" she said, lifting the blender she held. "Care for a drinkie-poo?"

Hermione wondered what was in the blender. Surely it wasn't something alcoholic at this time a day. Well, maybe not so surely. The short time she had spent with her dad had taught her that anything was possible when it came to people who like to party.

"Growing old out here," Luna prodded her.

Hermione opened the door, and Luna strode in. "Hmm… do you actually fancy this lime green on the walls?" she asked doubtfully, looking around. "It could make a person's nerves all jangleish, don't you think? A bit too much relentless luminosity, if you ask me."

"I suppose," Hermione agreed hesitantly, not really sure how she felt about the bright color. Since she came to Miami she'd been struck by the colorful brightness of everything.

Luna opened the kitchen cabinet. The only thing inside was a stack of paper cups and the can of Funk-Off. "We're in luck!" she said, separating the cups and pouring the blender's contents, which turned out to be an orange-and strawberry smoothie in to them. She raised her paper cupful of smoothie into a toast. "Cheers! And here's to ridding your self of the fungus problem as well."

"Cheers," Hermione said, laughing. "There's no fungus problem that we know of. It's just a joke."

Luna suddenly roared with laughter. "Oh! Funk-Off. Just like we tell some one to sod off."

"That could be a product for removing unwanted grass," Hermione joked.

Luna didn't get it and looked confused. But then she brightened. "Oh, I see… sod! Those patched of grass you Americans are so fond of. Brilliant!"

She refilled Hermione's cup. What are you going to be doing here in South Beach?"

Hermione told her that she would be attending the University of Miami in the fall. "And I'm waiting tables downstairs until the end of summer."

"At CeCe's?" Luna asked, sounding delighted. "How convenient, and you'll just love her!"

"Mrs. Caracas?"

"Yes. CeCe Caracas is just super. She let me have a place even though I came here from England without a pound. I worked for CeCe until I got up enough money to open up a smoothie stand. Now money's not a problem."

Hermione looked at the travel clock she'd set out on the table. It was nearly eleven, and she was expected at the restaurant at noon. She thanked Luna for the smoothie.

"Ta-ta, then," Luna said. "I'm so glad we met. I do hope that we can be mates. I'll see you on the beach. That's where my stand is located."

The unexpected visit had made Hermione feel optimistic and welcome. She quickly dressed in her black Capri pants, one of her white t-shirts, and a pair of black slides.

When she got to the restaurant, it was empty except for a tall thin man in his thirties. He was setting a table and wore a white apron. His short, perfectly trimmed, receding hair and buttoned-up shirt gave him a neat -even fastidious- appearance. His movements were quick and efficient.

"Hi, I'm Hermione Granger," she introduced herself. "I'm going to start waiting tables today."

"Shall I alert the _Miami Herald_?" he asked sarcastically.

Hermione was about to all him there was no reason to be rude, when CeCe Caracas burst out of the kitchen, "_Hola,_ baby girl!" she greeted Hermione. "I see you met Paulo."

Hermione nodded "Sorta," she said.

"Paulo will show you everything you need to know," she told Hermione. She handed Hermione a crisp white apron. "He is a wonderful waiter."

"Thanks Mrs. Caracas," Hermione said, fighting down the nervous jitters dancing inside of her.

"Now that we know each other, call me CeCe," she said. "Everyone does."

She went back to the kitchen, leaving Hermione with Paulo. Since she couldn't catch his eye, she cleared her throat for his attention.

"Hot sauce one on each table." He told her, still not looking at her. "Over there, and combine any that are half full."

She found the small bottles of red sauce and began distributing them. Then she went back to the kitchen to combine the halves.

CeCe was hacking chicken pieces apart with a small cleaver. "You know Cuban food?" she asked Hermione.

"No. I'm part Puerto Rican," Hermione replied. "Part Irish."

"Puerto Rican and Cuban food are different in some ways, and the same in others," she said. "To tell you the truth, I'm not really a cook. My husband was the chef, but he passed on last year."

"I'm sorry," Hermione said.

CeCe sighed. "Me too. He was a wonderful man – and a fabulous cook. Unfortunately, I didn't learn anything about cooking from him. But I try my best. I could really use someone to takeover the cooking here."

_This might be the perfect place for Ron to learn, _Hermione thought. And it would be great to have him to have him to laugh with. She couldn't imagine herself doing much laughing with the stern-faced, sarcastic Paulo out there.

Hermione went back out with the mew bottles of hot sauce and continued to place them on the tables. Before long a man and a women came in. Paulo jerked his head toward them, motioning for Hermione to take the order.

She hurried over to the middle-aged couple. The man wore an obvious toupee and lots of gold chains. The woman was in a too tight red dress, her ample cleavage heaving forward at the neckline.

"Welcome to CeCe's Cuban Café," Hermione greeted them. "Can I take your orders?"

"We need menus," the man said in an annoyed tone.

"Yes that might help," the woman added sarcastically.

"Oh! Of course." Hermione ran up to Paulo. "Do we have menus?"

"No, we just let the customers guess at what we have," he answered dryly.

Hermione sighed, angry at her self for asking such a dumb question. "I mean where are the menus?"

Paulo pointed at the slate with the day's offerings written on it:

ROPA VIEJA (SHREDDED BEEF)

GARLIC ROASED CHICKEN

ARROZ CON POLLO (CHICKEN WITH RICE)

HAMBURGESA CUBANA (CUBAN HAMBUGER)

Hermione realized that she didn't have a pad, but how difficult would it be to remember their orders?

Another couple came in, and Paulo waited on them. He and Hermione both arrived in the kitchen together and gave CeCe the orders.

Hermione then went back to bring the couple their drinks. She had to go back because she had accidentally switched the diet with a regular Coke.

She grabbed the two plates of food that CeCe had put up on the serving shelf in the kitchen, and then hurried out with them. "Here you go," Hermione said, setting down the plates.

"This isn't _arroz con pollo,_" the woman said, pushing the plate away.

"I'm sure that you ordered chicken," Hermione, said confused.

"I ordered _arroz_- rice- too!" she replied angrily. "Do you see rice on this plate?"

"No. Sorry," Hermione said, scooping up the plate and hurrying back to the kitchen with it.

"There's my roasted chicken." Paulo said. He exchanged the plate of _arroz con pollo_ he was holding for her roasted chicken, and she rushed back to the table with it. She was moving so fast, that she didn't notice that black bean that had slipped off the plate and onto the ground.

"Yaaaiiiyyyy!" She slid along the wooden floor, the bean skidding along under her heel. Trying desperately to keep her plate up, Hermione realized that she was headed straight for her customers.

She hit the table, sending the chicken wing, rice, and black beans high into the air. Cokes splashed as she fell backward onto the floor.

The roasted chicken wing banged down on the man's head, knocking off his headpiece to the side. The chicken wing then bounced off his baldhead and landed down the front of the woman's dress, clenched tightly in place by her Wonderbra.

"I'm so sorry," Hermione cried as she climbed up off the floor.

With on hand on his fake hair, the man stormed out. His date yanked the chicken from her bosom and hurled it a Hermione before joining him.

CeCe had run out of the kitchen to see what was happening. Paulo was besides her, holding the two meals he had been about to deliver.

Hermione hurried up to them, shaking and covered with soda. "I'm so, so sorry!" she said.

Paulo turned to CeCe. "Now do you believe me?" he asked her.

"Okay, you win," CeCe replied. "I guess it's true… My chicken is a little rubbery.

Paulo scowled. "A little rubbery? That chicken bounced futher than Serena William's best serve."

"Okay, so what if your first day at work will someday be made into a disaster movie starring Ashton Kutcher and Hilary Duff?" Ron said later that day. It was about six o'clock, and they were walking along Ocean Drive on the beach side. "At least you didn't get fired."

"I think that she was afraid to come too close to me," Hermione replied. "She was probably afraid that she'd be sucked into the black hole of disaster that I had become. It didn't stop all day. I spilt things. I got orders mixed up. I even forgot to give someone that check and they left without paying."

Ron chuckled. "At least you _have_ a job. I got laughed out of some of the best restaurants in SoBe today."

"SoBe?" she asked.

"Yes. That's what those of us who are in the know call South beach," he explained. "And now _you_ know those of us that are in the know know, ya know?"

"I guess that I know," she agreed, laughing.

The stopped in front of a clothing store. "This place sells bathing suits."

Despite all of her mishaps, she managed to earn $30 in tips at lunch. She had no bathing suit, so she and Ron were now on a mission to find her one.

"Remember," he said as he pulled open the door to the store. "Don't pick out something that says 'Mother Teresa at the beach' all over it.

"I'm not the type of girl who has to show everything everything I've got," she insisted.

"No kidding," he agreed. I'm still in shock from your last bathing suit."

"You mean that cute suit with the knee-length board shorts and short sleeve top?"

"That's the one," he replied. The only thing missing was the little ruffled swim bonnet."

"I would have packed it but I could never find it again after that day that I wore it to Coney Island with you."

"I have a confession," he said. "You couldn't find it because I threw it in to the incinerator. I saw it on a chair in you apartment one day and just thought, _What the hell. She'll thank me someday._ After all, what are gay friends for, if not to save you from your worst fashion mistakes?"

"You burned my bathing suit?" Hermione cried, aghast.

"It's not like I made a bonfire and danced around it or anything. I just dumped it down the incinerator chute."

"I can't believe that you burned it," she said again. "Did you really? Are you just telling me the truth?"

"Yes, and not to worry, that's why I'm generously offering to help you pick out a new one- a much better one," he said, guiding her into the store. "Someday when I'm _filthy rich _again, I'll even offer to pay for it."

Inside Hermione looked trough a rack of Speedo tank suits, while Ron Brought over bikinis he thought would look good on her. After she refused the 10th bikini offering, he gave up. "Your hopless," he told her. "I'm going to go look in the men's department."

"Happy hunting," she said as he wandered off. She pushed a few more suits down the rack and picked one out, but she couldn't keep her mind on shopping. Maybe Ron was right. It was possible that her style needed a little shaking up. She realized that she was holding a black tank suit in her hand.

She put it back and went over to the two-piece rack. Pushing aside a group of hot pink and lime green string bikinis, she looked for something with a little more coverage.

After trying on four suits, she settled on a denim fabric two-piece with a halter top and board shorts.

"Perfect," Ron said, appearing form behind a rack. "I'm proud of you for showing your _girlage _a little." He came alongside her and leaned in close. "Don't be obvious," he said in a low tone. "But shift your drift over to the flip-flops over there."

Hermione pretended to stretch and casually glanced to the right. She froze in mid stretch.

Standing in front of the flip-flops- rack was the hottest hottie that she'd everlaid her eyes on. He was about six feet tall maybe a little taller. Broad shoulders muscled out from under a black t-shirt. His jeans weren't too tight, but were tight enough to give a truly inspiring rear view. He also had a lightening bolt-shaped scar on his forehead that only served to add to his hotness. "Whoa," she breathed out, letting her arms drop.

He turned their way as though sensing the attention they'd focused on him. Large bright green eyes took them in, and his white teeth glinted slightly when he smiled at them.

Both Ron and Hermione smiled back, dazed and confused by the brilliance of his looks. _We must look like two escapees from the psycho ward,_ Hermione realized.

Despite that, she couldn't stop staring at him as he walked away from the flip-flops to the front counter.

"Did you see how he was checking me out?" Ron whispered.

"Dream on," Hermione disagreed. "He was smiling at me."

"Uh-uh," Ron insisted. "Gay all of the way."

Hermione watched him head toward the front door – he stopped and looked over them.

He was interested in… one of them. _Be straight, be straight, please be straight, _she found herself feverishly hoping as she went back to the and reconsidered the hot pink string bikini.

Well there's Harry hope that you like the chappy. I will update sometime in the next week. I only have 2 regents then the rest of the summer to update the story.

Hermione Jane Potter 14


	5. Chapter 5

None of the story is mine I am following a book written by Suzanne Weyn& Diana Gonzalez. I'll try to update 1 time a week. Here's chapy 5…

"What good is getting sexy suit if you are going to wear the world biggest T-shirt at all times?" Ron asked as they left Ocean Drive and strolled along the beaches cement walkway a few days later.

"All right! All right!" Hermione cried. Yanking off her over sized T-shirt, she scowled at Ron. She turned in a circle, showing off the skimpy hot pink bikini. "There! Are you happy?"

"You look great. I'd be even happier if you lost the glasses." He replied.

"Can you tell me why you want to see me stumbling around half naked and nearly blind!" she grumbled.

"You don't have to be blind. You know that you can wear your contacts," he countered. "You have them, so why don't you use them?"

"They make my eyes feel dry."

"They do not. You just never gave them a chance," he insisted. "Your eyes are awesome! Why did you want to hide them behind glasses?"

Hermione suddenly sat down on a bench set off of the walkway. "Why are you picking on me today?" she asked.

"I'm not," he insisted with an edge of annoyance, but then he softened and sat beside her. "Am I? I don't mean to. It's just that it seem as if you hide behind those big shirts and beach cover-ups and your glasses. And sometimes I think you even…" He stopped himself, deciding not to say what had bed on the tip of his tongue.

"What?" she demanded.

"Well that you hide behind me, too," he added.

"I do not!" she cried indignantly.

"Hermione, you only dated two guys through high school, and only for a few months each," he reminded her.

"They weren't any fun. I always had more fun hanging out with you," she said.

"But we even went to the prom together."

"I had fun at the prom," she said. "I thought that you did too."

"I did, but…" He sighed, seeming to run out of steam and not finding the right words for what he wanted to express. "It _was_ a fun night."

Three good-looking guys in there twenties were walking along the path toward them. Ron waved, and they waved back. "That's Marc, Jon, and Ethan," he told her. "They share the apartment upstairs- the big one next to Luna."

"Yours?" she guessed.

"Totally," he answered. "Marc, the cute one with the long blonde hair, is a costume designer for a gay theatre group. Jon, the one who look like Adam Sandler, is a psych student at the University of Miami, and the last guy, Ethan, the skinny one, is writing a screenplay. Nice guys." He stood up and took a step toward them. "I'm going to go say hi. Come and meet them."

Hermione stayed seated. "I'll be there in a minute. You go." Really, she would have loved to meet them. But she was thinking about what Ron had said: that she hid behind him. Maybe it was true, in a way. And what if he was feeling that he needed some space from her? People always thought that they were a couple, and that could make it difficult for him to meet other guys, even if it was just as friends.

He took a step to leave but stopped, "You okay?" he asked.

"Yep. Catch you later." He still seemed hesitant about leaving, so she got up and, with a wave, sauntered off along the walkway just beyond the trees and the benches. She passed two men who looked her over with long, lingering glances. She hurried away and, when they stopped staring, put the T-shirt back on.

She spied Luna at her smoothie stand, with it's yellow gleaming metal cart and cheerful yellow umbrella, and hurried toward her. It was great to see a friendly face when she was suddenly feeling all alone.

"Oh, thank god you're here!" Luna greeted her. "I'm dying to go to the loo!"

Hermione looked at her quizzically. "The loo?"

"The WC, the water closet! The little girls' room!" Luna explained.

"Oh! Sure! Go!" Hermione told her. "I'll watch the stand."

"Thanks," I'm sure that no one will come. It's been as slow as snails all day. If someone comes by, just say that I'll be back."

"I can handle it," Hermione assured her. How hard could it be to make a smoothie?

Daisy rushed off, and Hermione stepped behind the cart. She watched the people walking by, wondering what each of them did and why they had come to South Beach. Everything was so different from New York City. Maybe she'd try to get over to the university soon to check out the-

"Excuse me." A voice pulled her out of her reverie.

Hermione turned and froze.

It was him- the amazing hottie that they'd see in the store!

"Could I get a Tropical Kiss?"

"Huh?" Hermione said, too surprised by his unexpected appearance to think straight. Had he really said he wanted a kiss? She must be dreaming!

Hermione felt something like lightning zap back and forth between them. The sensation lasted a second, but it felt so real, not at all like something she'd imagined.

"A Tropical Kiss," he repeated, pointing to the sign on the front of the cart. "A coconut-strawberry-kiwi-pineapple smoothie."

"Oh! I thought that you said a tropical _fish_. I didn't hear you correctly."

_Well that was pretty lame of me,_ she thought. But she felt that we had to say _something_ to explain her dazed slowness to react. "You want a smoothie," she continued, desperately stalling until her brain could return from wherever it had disappeared to. "Sure. Sure thing"

God! How gorgeous! Now that she saw him up close he was even more insanely handsome than she thought. His olive skin was perfectly tanned. He even smelled delicious, like coconut and almond sunscreen.

He took off his sunglasses and cleaned them on his white linen shirt. Looking up, he smiled at her. Just as they had when she first saw him, his whiter than white teeth glinted in the sun. Unbelievably green eyes sparkled at her, and she noticed that they were flecked with brown and gold and rimmed with thick black lashes.

All at once she was glad she'd put her big T-shirt back on and, at the same time, wished she hadn't. At least she could take off her glasses and hope that Ron was right about her eyes being amazing. So what if she couldn't see his face as well as before? It was a face that she wasn't likely to forget.

"One Tropical Kiss coming up," she said, removing her glasses with what she hoped was a casual gesture, as if one always did this before concocting a mixed beverage.

The trick now was seeing the ingredients inside the cart without her glasses. It shouldn't be too hard. Pineapple was yellow, strawberry was red, kiwi was green and the coconut was white. The frozen yogurt was cold. She could feel her way to it. She could manage this.

"Didn't I see you in a store a few days ago?" he asked.

I see you in a store a few days ago?" he asked.

_Yes!_ She cheered inwardly. He remembered seeing _her_- not Ron. He was straight!

"You were looking at bathing suits," he reminder her.

"Oh yes, now I remember," she said, working hard to seem cool. She put the ingredients into the blender. "I was with a friend of mine." She hoped that he picked up on the way that she'd said _friend_. Not a boyfriend, just a _friend_.

"Oh I didn't notice your friend," he said, "but I remember seeing you. Did you find anything that you liked?"

Liked? Did her know how much she liked him? Was she that obvious? Then she realized what he meant. "Oh you mean a bathing suit. Yes I found one I liked."

She tossed the ingredients into the blender and hit the button.

Smoothie goop instantly sprayed everywhere! She'd forgotten to put on the top before hitting the button!

Blindly, she pounded on the blender's controls as the two of them were pelted with cold, sticky smoothie. She hit it frantically but she couldn't find the off button.

The smoothie shot into her hair and on her T-shirt. And it was all _over_ him. Even without her glasses she could see that much!

"Gaw!" Luna cried, running back toward them. "What is going on?"

"Your back! Great," Hermione cried, wanting only to disappear. "Sorry about the mess."

Luna punched the off button, and the smoothie storm whirred to a halt. Luna burst into peals of laughter. "The two of look such a fright!"

Mystery hottie stood there, his arms extended from his sides, dripping smoothie.

"Yea, sorry about… it all," Hermione apologized to him. There was no salvaging this disaster. She just had to get out of this mortifying scene instantly. "See ya!"

Avoiding the blurry shaped along the walkway, she ran toward the sidewalk. When she got there, she hurried back toward her apartment, leaving a trail of pink smoothie footprints on the sidewalk as she went.

Well how did you like the chappy please review.

Hermione Jane Potter 14


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN THE CHARACTORS OR THE STORY! Here's Chappy 6…

That night Hermione worked the dinner shift at CeCe's. "Getting better," Paulo commented at the end of the night. He shot her a tight, quick smile, which was the most warmth that she'd ever seen from him. Hermione was assuming that he was referring to the fact that she hadn't dumped a meal on anyone's head that night and had only totally botched one order.

She actually thought it was pretty amazing that she'd done so well during dinner. She was still unstrung by the blender accident. Added to that, she was trying to adjust to her contact lenses. During the smoothie explosion she'd forgotten about her glasses and left them behind at the cart. Before going to her place she headed up to Luna's apartment to see if daisy had found her glasses.

It was eleven o'clock, but music was still blasting from the apartment down the hall. When she knocked on Luna's door, Mr. Smedlinsky stuck his bald head out the door. "You learn dance with Mr. Smedlinsky?"

"Uh… no, but thank you, Mr. Smedlisky," she said trying to decline as polite as possible. "I just finished working and my feet are really throbbing. I've been on them all-"

Before she could finish her sentence, Mr. Smedlinsky leaped into the hall and extended his hand gallantly. Unable to decline with his sparkly blue eyes, she took it. Instantly she was swept down the hall, dancing a wild polka.

She'd learned to polka in gym class, but she couldn't keep up with the spry old man. They danced down the hall and then backup again.

They were by Luna's door again when Mr. Smedlinsky finished his dance by spinning Hermione out of his arms. She was still spinning when Daisy opened the door, allowing Hermione to right into the apartment.

"Now that's what I call an entrance!" Luna remarked. She shut the door, and seconds later Mr. Smedelinsky's business card came sliding under it.

Hermione picked it up. The words "I teach" were underlined. "Thanks for the dance Mr. Smedlinsky," Hermione called through the wall. She wasn't sure if he could hear her over the music still blasting on his boom box.

"He's always doing that to me, too," Luna said, laughing. "It's usually kind of fun, but a bit alarming if your not expecting him."

"I came to apologize about today," Hermione said once Luna and she had finished laughing.

"Oh, yeah," Luna cried, and began laughing again. "What a mess-up! The poor fella was even more covered in smoothie than you were. But good lord wasn't he gorgeous? Did you snog him?"

"What?" Hermione cried. She had no idea what Luna meant, but it sounded dirty.

"Snog! Snog!" Luna said excitedly.

"What are you talking about?" Hermione asked.

"What are you, daft or something?" she asked. "I'm talking about kissing!"

"Ooooooh!" Hermione cried, finally understanding. "Is that what you say in England?"

"Yeah, among other things," Luna confirmed. "I thought maybe you got the chance to lick some of the smoothie from Mr. Gorgeous' lips."

"I would have loved to!" Hermione admitted, "That's why I had taken off my glasses, although that didn't turn out the way I'd planned!"

Luna screamed with laughter. "I don't blame you for being gaga she gasped. "You cheeky little devil! But you're not alone. All the girls are mad about him."

"He _is _straight, then?" Hermione asked.

"Are you joking? He's like the straight sex god of Ocean Drive. He sings at one of the restaurants, and I hear the place is packed with girls every night."

"Oh," Hermione said, disappointed. What chance did she have with the sex god of Ocean Drive?

"Don't look so glum," Luna said. "I don't think that he has a steady girl friend or anything like that. You have as good a shot at him as anyone else."

In theory, that might be true, Hermione thought, but it wasn't every girl who had blasted him with rapid fire-blasts of smoothie mix. Most likely that put her pretty far back in the race for his affections. "You didn't find my glasses, did you?" Hermione asked, wanting to change the subject.

Luna shook her head. "Forget about the glasses. You look so much better without them." She walked behind Hermione. "Yes there it is. I thought so," she said. "You have a gorgeous J.Lo butt."

Suddenly self-conscious, Hermione clapped her hands on her behind. She'd always thought that it was a little too large. She'd never considered it an asset.

Ron knocked on the door and Luna let him in. "The guys I and I are going to watch an old Hitchcock flick- _The Birds_," he told them. "We could hear you talking from next door and thought you'd might want to watch it with us?"

Luna shivered. "Ooooh, I just adore _The Birds_. It's so horrifically creepy!"

Hermione and Luna joined Marc, Jon, and Ethan next door. Hermione thought that each of them seemed interesting in his own way.

"Ron says that you're a poet," Ethan said as he pulled a chair up to the TV for Hermione.

"I've only had things published in little journals and in the school literary magazine," she replied.

"She's awesome," Ron jumped in. "She's going to the University of Miami on a writing scholarship."

"Nice!" said Jon. "I can show you around in the fall. I'm in my last year there."

"Jon's a psych major. He can analyze you too," Luna said, curling up at the end of the couch. "He says I have issues with men because my father was emotionally distant."

"My father is very warm but totally unreliable," Hermione revealed.

"That will give you issue," Jon said as he took the bag of popcorn from the microwave. "Different ones from Luna's but issue just the same."

"Hermione avoids getting romantically involved," Ron pointed out. Hermione shot him a glare.

"Well you _do,_" he insisted.

"That could defiantly be a result of having an unreliable father," Jon confirmed.

"Leave the poor girl alone and watch the movie," Marc told them. The old Hitchcock film had begun. The beautiful, blonde actress Tippi Hedren was putting a cage with two lovebirds in the car. "Look at that outfit she's wearing they really knew how to dress in 1963," he remarked.

"I never really understand what's going on in this movie," Hermione admitted. "I know the birds attack, but why?"

"It's more of a psychological study," Ethan suggested.

"Absolutely," Jon agreed. "The birds reflect the psychological chaos going on inside Tippi Hedren's character."

They watch the Hitchcock thriller, and Hermione had never seen it before in quite the same way. Ethan who was writing his own screenplay, kept pointing out the clues and hidden meanings in the story. Marc was enthralled by the costumes and knew so much about clothing. And Jon gave his insights into the psychology of the characters. It was after two in the morning before Hermione and Ron returned to their apartment. "I told you they were good guys," Ron said as he pulled out the couch. "Luna's cool too."

Hermione remembered that she hadn't had a chance to tell Ron about her total humiliation at the beach. But she was exhausted and really didn't want to relive it, any way. "I'll take the couch tonight," she offered.

"Nope," he declined, kicking off his shoes. "I told you, you could have the room. I really don't mind."

"Thanks," she said, yawning. She went into her room and changed into her nightshirt. Crawling into bed, she tossed and turned and couldn't see to settle down to sleep.

She kept thinking about the guy at the beach. She didn't even know his name- but somehow she felt connected to him. She'd felt it that first day in the store.

So many thoughts and feelings raced trough her. Even though she had absolutely no chance with mystery hottie, she couldn't stop thinking about him. There would be no way for her to fall asleep before writing some of her feelings down as a poem. Pulling her small notebooks and a pen from the top drawer of the rattan nightstand, she began to write.

**_Electric Storm_**

_By: Hermione Granger_

_Zap. Flash._

_Quicksilver electric connection._

_I have never seen_

_Anything like you._

_Heart smash. Mind crash._

_Flowing in your direction._

_I have never felt _

_Anything like you._

How did you like the chapter?

Please review!

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	7. Authors note

Readers,

I need a name for Hermione's favorite author. It needs to be a girl though. I can't think of anything so help with coming up with a name would be greatly appreciated. The first three name I get will be posted and I will have my readers vote on them.

Thanks,

Hermione Jane Potter 14 


	8. authors note 2

Readers,

I have taken 1-2 choices on authors from each person for you to vote on. But keep in mind that Hermione's favorite author is a poet so I hope that you don't mind that I change the writing style of the writer for the story. I really need you guys to choose your favorite authors out of these 6 real/made up authors or else I will go with JK Rowling. Here they are:

JK Rowling

Anne Rice

Gwendolyn Brooks

Naomi Watson

Jane Austen

Jane Roud

Nzoake Jones

Please vote for your top 3 favorites. Chapter 7 can't go up until I have an author. I will give you guys until Friday then I will choose an author myself. The author from my book I also up there. So tell me which one you like and then I will have you guys pick out your favorite one.

Thank you,

Hermione Jane Potter 14 


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